Thursday, 9 July 2009

Ivy

If you have self-esteem issues and you want your sense of fashion vindicated by respected style gurus, then you’ll get a boost getting into the Ivy. Also, if you want vindication for your wealth and enjoy paying the ridiculous premiums on drinks, then this is the place for you.

So they might be more lenient during the day, which was probably the only reason why I gained entry for lunch. Admittedly it’s a very impressive venue, it’s pretty much decked out like backyard of mansion in Hollywood Hills that’s plagiarises Madame Brussels but wankier, complete with a pool and plush cocktail havens. This is Justin Hemmes’ jewel in the multimillion entertainment playground that is the Ivy.

Price tags on the food befit the surrounds, but too bad about the quality, because it demands better. Though I guess satisfying meals are secondary when you’re mingling with the social “elite”. A gourmet attempt at a burger comes in a white bun that’s a bit too wholesome which doesn’t allow the flavour burger patty to come through and indeed needs the tomato relish, standard salad of sliced tomato and lettuce inside and chips included. They don’t hold back on the tomato in the simple spaghetti that causes deep stains upon contract with a business shirt.

Alright, it’s not all bad at the Ivy. Cut the clipboards, the attitude, the prices and the doorbitches (that goes for both the boys and females) and it might be a half decent bar. This is Justin Hemmes’ jewel, but the Ivy is also the crown jewel of Sydney wank.